


Hunters beware

by Nival_Vixen



Series: Word of the day [31]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Complete, Dark Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Declarations Of Love, Derek Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Anchor, Derek is a Good Alpha, Human-Werewolf Interactions, Hunters Being Assholes, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek, Protective Stiles, Revenge, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sheriff Stilinski Knows About Werewolves, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Snarky Derek, Snarky Stiles, Torture, Twisted, Understanding, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Derek, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nival_Vixen/pseuds/Nival_Vixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek have been kidnapped, drugged, and tortured. Their captors still aren't entertained, so they set Stiles and Derek up in a contraption that makes Stiles torture Derek instead. He hasn't slept in three days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunters beware

**Author's Note:**

> Word of the day: Lackadaisical (adj) without interest, vigour, or determination; listless; lethargic.

Stiles weakly yanked at the chain that bound him to the ceiling, the effort lackadaisical after so long captured. He had been knocked unconscious for most of the trip to wherever they were, and then drugged when he woke up in this place when his captors tired of his incessant talking and questions. Derek didn't look much better, strung up to a fence and injected with wolfsbane-infused drugs.

 

Stiles must have really pissed their captors off, because Captor A knocked him out with a crowbar after a few days, and they'd woken up in this contraption. Stiles was strung up to the ceiling, a stone under him, and he had to keep the scale set to 80 exactly or else he'd electrocute Derek. After three days, it was only nerves and adrenaline that kept him awake now, all real attempts at escape long past. Stiles was exhausted, but he couldn't fall asleep; the moment he fell asleep, Derek would die and it would be Stiles' fault.

 

After two days, Captor B hadn't been amused at Stiles' insults and jeers, and had stabbed him. The wound in his side was still oozing at times, the blood making the stone beneath him even more slippery and difficult to keep his weight at 80.

 

Across from him, Derek was dozing - or inasmuch as he could while they were captured and being tortured - and though Stiles knew Derek needed his sleep to recover his werewolf strength, he needed to stay awake more, for both of their sakes. Before he could call out to wake Derek up, Stiles' feet slipped on the blood-wet stone beneath him, and as his weight changed on the scale, a bolt of electricity surged through Derek's body, jolting him awake quite literally.

 

"Sorry, sorry, Derek, I'm so- I'm sorry," Stiles breathed, half-sobbing.

 

"No, no. I'm - I shouldn't've fallen asleep. Need to keep you awake," Derek said, words heavy with sleep.

 

Their captors had dosed Derek with a modified strand of wolfsbane to keep him down. It wasn't fatal, but while his body continued to fight it, he needed a full night's sleep to overcome the effects of the plant. So far, he'd barely managed a full four hours before their captors had blown an air horn into the room, their laughter echoing in Stiles and Derek's ringing ears.

 

"Tell me about your first birthday; the first one you remember," Derek added.

 

"My fifth birthday; there was cake, and I got a toy. I was bored of it after a day. Next," Stiles said.

 

"No, more detail than that. What kind of cake?" Derek prompted.

 

"It was chocolate. There was this really thick fudge icing that hurt my teeth. Mum covered it with a shit-ton of sprinkles, and I swear there's still some of those little bastards hiding in the lounge room now. Mum baked it and decorated it, and she let me help, but only 'cause I was good at school that week. I mean, I'd gotten detention twice, but also found out I had ADHD that week, so it balanced out, I guess."

 

"What was the present? The toy you got bored with?"

 

Stiles took a moment to breathe, wishing that there was more than blood and sweat in the air. _God, what he'd give for fresh air_...

 

"Stiles! Concentrate. C'mon, without your Adderall, you need something to focus on. What toy?" Derek asked, eyes drooping closed.

 

"It was a Lego set. Should've kept me occupied for _weeks_ , but Mum found out about her frontotemporal dementia the next day. I've hated the things since, which is a shame 'cause the new Star Wars Lego sets do look awesome, but I just... can't," he cut off, his throat thick.

 

"Laura used to build castles with her Lego. She had a Lego character, said it was a werewolf princess. She made me be the dragon, then she made the princess escape and kill the dragon," Derek said with a brief smile, sadness in his eyes.

 

"You were killed by a Lego toy?"

 

"No; the toy changed into her. Playtime was the only time we were allowed to bring out our claws, so it usually ended with us wrestling. Laura let me win a few times."

 

Stiles wheezed a laugh, stopping abruptly when Derek winced when he slipped on the bloody stone again. He could no longer feel the pain from the stab wound in his side, and while he was woozy and light-headed, Stiles still knew that wasn't a good thing.

 

"Stiles? Come on, Stiles. Stay with me. You've got to stay with me," Derek called, letting out a whine of pain as Stiles' weight changed and electricity flowed.

 

"Shit! Sorry. I'm awake. I'm just... I'm so tired, Der."

 

"I know, Stiles. We'll get through it, okay? The others will find us," Derek added.

 

Stiles knew he was lying, even without hearing his heartbeat. As the kid of a cop, Stiles knew better than anyone the likelihood of them being rescued after 48 hours, and they'd been captured for far longer than that. Besides, they both knew that their captors weren't going to let them go, not after they'd seen their faces. Derek already knew all of this, so Stiles just kept his mouth shut and focused on the scale across from him.

 

He just had to keep the weight at a constant 80 and then they'd both stay alive that little bit longer. While Stiles was hanging from the ceiling with a wound in his side, Derek was tied up to a fence with a fucking pole through his side, so Stiles figured he was somewhat better in the long run. _Though, without food or water, maybe they were even?_ It didn't really matter, all that mattered was that he couldn't sleep, he couldn't breathe too heavily, and if he slipped off the rock under his feet, Derek would be electrocuted within an inch of his life. The bastards that had caught them were really working on their sadistic sides.

 

"Try to sleep again, Der. You need to get your strength back. I'll be fine," Stiles said, focusing on the red numbers across from him until they were all he could see.

 

Derek tried to protest, but he was exhausted and he trusted Stiles to keep him safe and alive, even for another hour at least. After barely a minute of trying to stay awake, Derek nodded off again.

 

Barely any time seemed to pass before their captors made their way down the hallway, and Stiles called out for Derek desperately. They'd both discovered the hard way that it was bad to be asleep when their captors arrived; they were narcissistic as well as sadistic.

 

"Derek! Derek, wake up! I - I can't. Shit, wake up, wake up."

 

"I'm awake," Derek said, voice heavy and slurred.

 

"No, you're not," Stiles hissed. "Fuck, Der, they're going to do worse if you're not awake," he muttered, wincing as he let his foot slip off the rock a little bit, the numbers dropping to 79.

 

Derek jolted on the fence, his heart racing as a burst of electricity ran through him. "Shit. I'm awake now. Sorry."

 

"So am I. Fuck, Der, we - "

 

"Rise and shine, abominations," Captor C sneered as the door slammed open behind him.

 

"Been looking in the mirror?" Stiles asked, his voice laced with as much weariness as sarcasm. His sarcasm was literally his only weapon now that he was strung up from the ceiling and no longer had his bat.

 

Captor B made his way over to Stiles, looking murderous and ready to push him off his stone entirely. Stiles tensed, readying to kick the bastard in his bandaged arm the second he was close enough.

 

"Get back here, B. I have a better idea," Captor A said, smirking evilly.

 

Apparently smirking evilly was totally a thing now. Stiles used to think that Jackson could smirk like nobody's business, but this woman's smirk was made of nothing but pure and utter evil, and even Jackson would be terrified of her. Stiles held himself up the best he could, trying not to electrocute Derek again. A waited until B was back with C before she moved over to Derek. Stiles wondered if he could electrocute her, but A was smart and wouldn't get close enough to the fence or Derek to let him do that.

 

Captor A took a syringe from her jacket, looking over to Stiles to ensure that he saw what he was about to inject Derek with. Derek snarled on the fence, the noise weak and pathetic despite the wolfsbane he could smell.

 

"Uh, Derek, it's bad when wolfsbane is really, really dark, isn't it?" Stiles asked, needing to get as much information as possible. If he could get his brain to stop fluttering on the ceiling, then he might be able to do something.

 

"Stronger concentration; works faster on the shift."

 

"Fuck."

 

"Charming," A said, not looking impressed. "While I inject your friend here, make sure you don't lose your concentration. A full dose of this will kill him, and if I'm electrocuted while injecting, then my thumb _will_ press this all the way down."

 

A didn't give a word of warning as she stuck the needle in Derek's neck, pressing the syringe down slowly and releasing the concentrated wolfsbane into his bloodstream.

 

"C, the chain," A called, C walking over with a thick length of chain and equally thick cuff.

 

C cuffed one end of the chain to Derek's ankle and the other to the fence. Stiles felt his stomach drop, surprised that the scale didn't change at the awful feeling that accompanied his captors' actions. B barked a laugh, not an evil one, but still the kind that still set Stiles' teeth on edge; he really wished he'd been able to kick the dickhead in the arm after all. A finished injecting Derek - thankfully, not all of it, but about a quarter was gone, Stiles could see - and then she unclipped him from the fence itself.

 

"There. That's just enough length for your friend to eat and devour you, so then we're within the law when we kill him."

 

"None of this is within the law, you bitch!"

 

Derek fell forward onto his knees, a growl in his throat. Stiles let all of his weight drop onto the stone, electrocuting A who had taken hold of the fence to take Derek down. She screamed as she spasmed against the fence, her hands curled into the wires and her hair starting to raise. On the ground, Derek was spasming as well, the electricity still running through the chain, but Stiles knew he'd forgive him for taking this opportunity. B ran forward to grab A with his good arm, shocking himself at the same time, both of his captors screaming in pain. Stiles really hoped that C would do the same thing.

 

She didn't. Instead, C ran at Stiles, punching at the wound in his side. Pain blossomed, Stiles gasping and wheezing, and he lifted his feet off the stone as blood started to ooze again. C put her own weight on the stone until it was at 80kg again. A and B's screams stopped, though they were both panting at the exertion and unexpected bout of electricity that still flickered through their bodies. B grabbed the fence with his bandaged hand to slowly stand, A taking his offered hand to stand up as well.

 

"If you don't get your feet on this stone in the next second, you won't have to worry about your furry friend killing you because _I'll_ do it," C snarled.

 

"Gonna die either way. Ladies first," Stiles gasped, laughing hysterically with fear and hunger and exhaustion.

 

C looked over to where Derek had been spasming a moment ago. He hadn't been lying about the wolfsbane concentration working faster, and instead of Derek's red eyes and long claws, the three captors were faced with an actual _wolf_ instead. Derek leapt for C, biting on her jugular and tearing it out in one swift motion, blood dripping out of his mouth and down his maw. C's death dislodged the scale again, and both A and B screamed and spasmed as they were electrocuted again. The bandage on B's arm was singed and starting to turn black.

 

Impassive, Stiles looked away from them and saw that Derek had gnawed his back paw off entirely, the cuff and chain no longer attached to him. Thankfully, his paw was already growing back. It proved just how much Stiles had been through that he didn't even feel sickened at the sight. Derek sniffed at C's dead body, a snarl rumbling in his throat, and then turned to look at A and B as the last of his paw grew back.

 

"How long's your change last, Der?" Stiles asked, swinging listlessly from the ceiling.

 

Derek didn't respond, watching A and B, his ears alert and tail twitching slightly.

 

"Lemme get that for you," Stiles murmured, catching on the stone with one of his feet before carefully pressing down onto the wet stone until 80 showed again. "Hey, Der? Attack."

 

Derek didn't even snarl at him for the bad joke, leaping forward as B tried to push A towards him. A screamed as Derek's claws tore out her stomach, intestines and organs spilling onto the ground. Derek didn't even stop, catching B on his heel and _dragging_ him back into the room screaming. Stiles vaguely wondered what was happening outside; these three weren't their only captors, not for a werewolf of Derek's stature, after all. _Maybe D and E were already readying the wolfsbane bullets?_

 

He listened out for their footsteps over B's screams and A's gasps. After a few minutes, and Derek chewing on a few necessary body parts, their noises finally stopped. Neither D or E came running, so Stiles figured they weren't in the building; _maybe they'd gone out to get A, B and C breakfast or something? Or maybe they didn't even live in this place and were still on their way over?_ Stiles knew that he was becoming over-focused on the issue even though it didn't really matter. He hadn't eaten, drunk, had Adderall, or slept in forever, so he figured a bit over over-focusing was the least of his problems.

 

Then he heard Derek snarling again, and Stiles looked down to see Derek approaching him.

 

"Uh. Der? You recognise me, right?" Stiles asked.

 

He didn't get a response, and there didn't seem to be any sort of recognition in Derek's eyes either. Stiles tried to lift his feet out of reach with all of his meagre strength. It wasn't much, and since Derek could still probably kill him even with his feet up like that, he soon put them down again. Stiles was too tired, and if Derek killed him, well ... at this point, it was better him than their captors.

 

"Can you kill me after I sleep? 'Cause I just feel like it's really unfair that I'm going to be mauled to death and I haven't slept in forever. Everyone says they want to die in their sleep, yeah? Why can't I just die _after_ sleeping? That should be allowed! You... You don't understand a single thing I'm saying, do you?" Stiles asked, his voice hoarse and broken.

 

Derek licked at the blood-covered stone at Stiles' feet, tickling his toes. Before Stiles could even laugh at the sensation, Derek snarled and leapt at him.

 

...

 

Stiles opened his eyes to find that he was still strung up to the ceiling in the torture room. A, B, and C's bodies were no longer there, but blood trails showed that they'd been dragged out. Whether it was by Derek or D and E, Stiles had no idea. He looked over to the scale to see that the numbers were no longer lit, and the plug had been torn out of the wall.

 

"Der? You out there?" Stiles called, his voice soft in case D and E had returned.

 

Derek padded into the room, still in his wolf form, so Stiles figured he hadn't been out for that long if the wolfsbane still hadn't worked out of Derek's system.

 

"You're all right," Stiles breathed, feeling relief flowing through him. "You bit me. Were you really that hungry? Or..." he trailed off, looking down at his body the best he could.

 

Derek's bite mark was nowhere to be seen, and the stab wound on his other side was still closing, but it definitely wasn't the gaping hole it had been earlier.

 

"I was dying, wasn't I?"

 

Derek whined and moved forward to rub against his leg. Stiles tried to process the realisation that he'd been dying, that he almost died, that he was a werewolf now. He was no longer skin 'n bones _human_ Stiles with sarcasm as his only defence. He was a _werewolf_ now. He was alive. That was enough, for the moment.

 

 _Actually, not being strung up to the ceiling would be better_ , Stiles mused, looking up at the dead weights his arms had become. Werewolf healing didn't do a thing while he was still in pain, or being affected by something painful, it seemed.

 

"All that werewolf strength and I'm still stuck here," he muttered.

 

 _Well, he hadn't tried to get down yet. Maybe he'd get more feeling in his arms if he tried to move now that he was a werewolf? There wasn't any harm in trying, at least_.

 

Stiles struggled to lift himself up, his arms protesting at the movement. He ignored the pain and let himself fall back down, gripping the chain and trying to pull at them at the same time. The chains clattered noisily, and Stiles gasped as pins and needles filled his arms as feeling started to return. He lifted himself up again, a little easier this time, falling and pulling at the chains. There was a creaking sound from the ceiling, which Stiles took as a good sign.

 

"Der, you better get back. I don't want to bring the ceiling down on _both_ of us," Stiles said, lifting himself up again.

 

Derek flicked his ears and tail, then went to stand in the doorway. Stiles fell again, feeling a pinch in his fingers as he snagged the chain on the way down. He didn't even care, simply glad that he could feel his arms and hands again. With feeling returned to his limbs, he grabbed the chain and pulled it with all of his might. As exhausted as he was, still recovering from torture, and hungry and thirsty to boot, Stiles' might wasn't all that great. It took another five minutes of pulling before the hook in the ceiling began to bend and open. One more pull and Stiles fell backwards as the hook and chain came free. He slipped on the bloody stone, falling with a yelp. He expected to hit the ground, but stopped abruptly with an oomph of noise as Derek slid under him to cushion his fall. Stiles twisted around immediately, ignoring the blood that smeared against him as he hugged Derek to him.

 

"Der. Oh, fuck. We're alive. We're alive. I... I thought I wouldn't get to touch you again," Stiles admitted, sobbing against Derek's fur.

 

Derek made soft whining noises in his ear, licking at his cheek and neck until Stiles stopped crying. He wiped at his eyes and nose, realising all too abruptly just how hungry he was.

 

"I'm so hungry and thirsty. Did you find anything out there?" Stiles asked.

 

Derek licked at his hand and then headed out of the room, Stiles following him immediately. He drank two full glasses of water before he found a plastic bowl and tipped a glass in for Derek to drink. He lapped at the water eagerly, just as thirsty as Stiles.

 

Now that he was no longer in the torture room, Stiles could smell something other than blood and death. He could smell the mixed scents of A, B, C, D and E; C's perfume still lingering, the scent of A's wolfsbane syringe; the cologne that B used; E's deodorant; and D's cigarettes. Stiles mused that the smoke would probably linger longer than the perfume.

 

Stiles found food in the fridge, leftovers from several takeout places in the area. He set the boxes on the floor so Derek could have first pick, waiting until he dove for the chow mein before picking up a box of rice for himself. He couldn't be bothered finding cutlery, too hungry to wait even that extra minute, and scooped the food straight into his mouth eagerly.

 

As he ate, Stiles listened to the world around them. Derek eating and snuffling in the box for the last bit of food, the wind whistling through the crack under the door, a bird flitting past, a trail of ants marching, a caterpillar making its way along a branch. Stiles didn't even realise he was listening, too intent on his food, but he became aware of it a moment later when he recognised two voices, his fingers replaced with claws instantly. _D and E were returning_.

 

Derek snarled at the doorway, and Stiles tried to think of what to do. They could rush out of the house, but that might end up with them trying to chase after D and E in a vehicle. He was still too exhausted for a long chase like that, and Derek would be the same. Thinking of a plan, Stiles put a hand in Derek's fur to quiet his snarling.

 

"I'll go back downstairs and lure them into the room. You follow them and block them in, then we'll kill them, okay?"

 

Derek's tail wagged a little bit in response. Stiles figured that was good enough. He shoved the empty boxes under the kitchen bench across from them, hiding the boxes from view, then headed down to the torture room.

 

He'd only been a werewolf for about thirty minutes now, but it was already long enough to make him balk at the overwhelming scent of blood, blocking out everything else he'd become accustomed to. Stiles kept his food down and walked back in, bloody footprints left in his wake.

 

He heard D and E pull up, laughing to each other as they headed into the house. Stiles plugged the scale back in, the noise of the electric fence setting his teeth on edge, but it would provide enough noise to let D and E believe that A, B, and C were in the room.

 

"Hey, A! We brought coffee," D called.

 

Stiles sat on the stone, watching the numbers rise and the electricity's crackling noise becoming louder. He screamed once, just for effect, and heard E sigh in annoyance.

 

"They can't hear you over the electricity. C'mon."

 

"I don't want to go down there so early. I just finished eating."

 

"Yeah, so did I. It's either us going down there or A not getting her morning coffee."

 

"Fuck."

 

Stiles listened over the noise of the fence as D and E made their way down the hallway, and he grinned when he heard Derek padding along behind them. His steps would be too quiet for human ears, especially with the electricity working, but Stiles could hear him fine. The door opened and D walked in with a tray of coffee, E a step behind him. They both realised something was wrong a second too late. Stiles' claws, which hadn't disappeared since hearing their car, were embedded in D's throat in the next instant. E didn't even get a chance to scream, Derek taking him down from behind.

 

Stiles was covered in fresh blood by the time he figured out how to extract his claws (and fingers, oops) out of D's throat, and he wiped his grimy claws off on D's shirt.

 

"I need an anchor to get rid of the claws, don't I?" Stiles asked Derek as D's lifeless body dropped to the ground.

 

Derek gave as much of a nod as he possibly could, his jaws bloody and wet.

 

Stiles looked to D's body, then E's, then to Derek. Four days ago, Stiles knew that if he'd been a werewolf then, his dad would've been his anchor. Four days ago, his dad was all the family he had, and it was the most important thing. Now Stiles was a werewolf, had committed cold-blooded murder (he could imagine his father's disappointment already; D or E could've provided names of other hunters), and the fact that he was alive was more important than anything else right now.

 

"I... I think gratitude can be my anchor right now. I'm just so grateful I'm alive, y'know?" he added when Derek cocked his head at him questioningly. "Or maybe sleep. Can sleep even be an anchor? It's not really a feeling like anger or love, but geez, do I feel it," Stiles muttered, his exhaustion returning tenfold. "Should probably find a phone to call everyone," he added, yawning wide. "Should've called before eating. Or before killing these guys. _Shit_. Does D or E have a phone?" he muttered, crouching down to turn D's body over to check his pockets.

 

Both D and E had phones, but neither had service. As Stiles thought about just how clear he'd heard a caterpillar crawling along a branch, he realised it only had a small part to do with his werewolf hearing, and far more to do with the fact that they were the only humans (more or less) in a very large radius. He left the torture room and went upstairs, walking out to look at the outside world for the first time in days. The sun was brighter outside, the windows tinted and muted, and he squinted up at the sky.

 

Stiles breathed in deeply, fresh air filling his lungs. It felt so much better than any air he'd ever breathed before, and he felt a little hysterical as he realised now that he'd kill for fresh air. He breathed out and listened to the world, trying to hear a single living soul besides himself and Derek. He couldn't hear anyone. There were no sounds of traffic, no people, _nothing_.

 

The door opened and closed behind him as Derek made his way out of the house to sit next to him, a heavy weight against his leg. Stiles breathed in again, this time smelling fresh blood and spilled coffee.

 

"Where'd they get the coffee?" Stiles murmured, crouching down to touch the wet patch of coffee on Derek's fur.

 

It was barely warm, and since the coffees had been in travel mugs, Stiles figured they were a long way from anywhere. Farmland around them stretched to the horizon on all sides, except for the one road that presumably led towards a town with coffee and cigarettes.

 

Stiles felt himself swaying, the food and drink barely helping with blood loss, torture, and forced insomnia. Derek whined and nudged at Stiles to get him back inside. He let Derek nudge and push at him until they were inside again. Stiles couldn't bring himself to sleep in either of the bedrooms that their captors had slept in, their scents too dense and sickening in those rooms. Instead, he pulled the couch apart, dragged the cushions into the kitchen, then found and added a blanket that smelled musty but not like A, B, C, D, or E, thankfully.

 

"Well? What do you think?" Stiles asked with a drowsy smile.

 

He waited until Derek deemed his work as acceptable, curling up on a cushion, before he collapsed onto the cushion next to it to fall asleep, his arm slung over Derek to ensure he was close and his fingers curled in his fur.

 

...

 

Stiles had no idea what time it was when he woke up next, nor how long he'd slept, or even how long it had been since he'd been kidnapped. He could see the night sky outside, and felt both happy and a little cheated that it wasn't a full moon.

 

Looking down, Stiles saw that Derek was no longer a wolf anymore, and he sighed in relief. Realising that he was thirsty again, he filled both of their glasses, drank one down, and set the other beside Derek carefully. Then he climbed back into their makeshift bed and fell asleep. This time, Derek was the one who reached out and tugged Stiles closer.

 

...

 

They woke up late the next day, needing the extra time to rest and recover, and Stiles breathed in deeply, still utterly grateful that he was alive.

 

"We've got to get back to Beacon Hills," he murmured, knowing that Derek was awake.

 

"Shower first. I'm not showing up covered in blood after disappearing with the Sheriff's son," Derek replied.

 

"Good point. You want to shower first or find clothes for us?"

 

"I'll find clothes, you shower."

 

All too aware of the dried blood and sweat, among other things if he was being truly honest, Stiles left the kitchen for the bathroom to shower. He listened over the spray of water to Derek as he made his way through their captors' suitcases. Stiles felt sick at the idea of wearing their clothes, not out of respect for the dead, because _fuck that_ , but because their _scents_ would be on the clothes. He almost called out to tell Derek that he'd rather arrive in Beacon Hills _naked_ than have those scents on his body and in his nose.

 

"You almost done? I don't think they have a proper hot water system out here," Derek pointed out, looking into the bathroom.

 

As if to prove him right, the water started to cool against Stiles' body. He turned the taps off quickly so there'd still be some hot water for Derek, and stepped out of the shower. After being tortured together for the last however many days, nudity was the least of Stiles' issues. Derek's clothes had been torn apart when he'd shifted, so he just stepped past Stiles and straight into the shower.

 

"I put clothes in the kitchen. Leave them there a bit longer to get rid of the scent," Derek called.

 

Realising that Derek must have put the clothes in their makeshift bed, Stiles sighed in relief. He headed to the kitchen, drying off as he did, and grinned when he saw the tight bundle of clothes that were wrapped in the blanket. Stiles saw D's pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter, a Zippo lighter sitting next to it, and in the next instant, came up with a plan. He hurried out of the front door to find what he needed.

 

"Why are you outside, naked, after just showering?" Derek asked from the door.

 

"They obviously worked with others; it can't be a coincidence that we were snatched out of BH two weeks after you'd become an Alpha again. The others will have to come here eventually, so I want to leave a warning for them not to mess with our pack."

 

Derek straightened at his words. "What do you need?"

 

"D's lighter; B's cologne; E's deodorant; and A's lipstick."

 

Derek didn't question him, simply turned around and went back inside. Stiles grabbed the rope from D and E's car, then headed inside as well.

 

An hour later, A, B, C, D, and E were strung up from the porch. On their bodies, Stiles had used A's lipstick to write a crude but memorable message to anyone working with their captors: _you're next, fuckers!_

 

He'd doused all five of them with B's cologne and E's deodorant, then set up a trap to set them on fire with D's lighter the moment anyone tried to take them down from the porch. The scent of death would override the cologne before anyone came looking for their captors, but they would stay flammable for a long while yet. From the dry farmland around them, Stiles doubted it had rained in years.

 

When it was all done, Stiles changed into the clothes that smelled like him, Derek, mustiness, and blood. Still, it was better than their captors' scents, and Derek pulled him close to scent him a bit more before they left.

 

Neither Derek nor Stiles looked back as Derek drove down the road. Stiles just hoped that they could get home again. They'd gathered all of the money that their captors had had, but it wasn't much, and if they had to drive across country to get home, Stiles doubted it would last long. Still, he was alive, and that would have to be enough for now. He reached over to grab Derek's hand, squeezing lightly.

 

"Thank you for everything, Der."

 

Derek seemed a little surprised at his words, but squeezed his hand in return and smiled softly. "You're welcome, Stiles."

 

...

 

The first town they arrived in actually had a working payphone, and Stiles almost fell out of the car in an attempt to run over to it. Placing a collect call to his house, Stiles wondered if he should call the station instead, but breathed in relief when the phone was answered in under a second.

 

"Stiles?" the Sheriff asked, hesitant and worried.

 

"Dad. Oh, fuck, Dad. You're okay," Stiles said, wanting to collapse in relief, but that would mean letting go of the phone and he was so _not_ doing that.

 

"Stiles! Oh, thank God. Where are you? Is Derek with you? Stiles, there was so much blood at the loft, are you both all right?"

 

"Dad. I... I have no fucking idea where we are. We're together and alive - " he admitted, gratitude flowing through him again. "We... We killed them, they... They were going to kill us, Dad; they were going to make Derek kill me. Dad, I'm... I made the chessboard."

 

There was a brief moment of silence as the Sheriff processed Stiles' words. Then he sighed, shaky and relieved. "I'm just glad you're all right, son. Find out where you are and get home soon, okay?"

 

"Will do. Derek says hi," he added, even though Derek hadn't said anything.

 

"Tell him thank you from me."

 

From the front seat, Derek looked surprised at the Sheriff's words, and Stiles had to hide a grin at the sight.

 

"I'm going to call the others to let them know you're both all right. I don't think Scott - or any of the pack - have slept willingly these past two weeks."

 

"Two... two _weeks?_ Dad, what's the date?"

 

"July 19th. We... we thought you and Derek were together after the Independence Day BBQ, so we didn't realise at first. It... I'm sorry. I should have known; you would've called everyone immediately, and - " his voice breaks.

 

"Hey, it's okay, Dad. We're alive, and we'll be in Beacon Hills soon, okay?"

 

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let me know where you are when you find out, okay? I'll get someone to help me do the Google Map thing you do," the Sheriff said with a bit of a laugh, still sounding wet and thick with tears.

 

"No one can do what I do, Dad," Stiles joked.

 

Derek got out of the car and rolled his eyes at Stiles pointedly. Then he nodded over to the diner to let him know where he'd be, crossing the road after Stiles gave him a thumbs up in return.

 

"Well, I believe that, son. Now, it's a full moon tonight, do you have an anchor?" the Sheriff asked, because that was the sort of thing they all knew now.

 

"Uh. Yeah, I've got an anchor," he said, biting his lip and not wanting to admit it wasn't his Dad, his family, friends, or even his pack.

 

"Good. No need to tell me. Just keep me updated and stay safe, okay?"

 

"I will. You stay safe too, Dad. We're not sure these guys were working alone."

 

"Okay. We'll talk about it more when you're back," he replied. "Love you, Stiles."

 

"Love you too, Dad."

 

Stiles hung up the phone a moment later, leaning back against the phone booth and taking a moment to breathe.

 

"You okay?" Derek asked, knocking on the glass gently.

 

"Yeah. I just... I want to get home."

 

"We're in Haigler, Nebraska. If we start driving now, we can be home tomorrow night if we only stop for food and sleep tonight."

 

"It's a full moon tonight," Stiles said, stepping out of the phone booth and looking up at the blue sky.

 

He could already feel the hum of the moon under his skin, the prick of claws at his fingertips, the fangs in his mouth, the blue bleeding through his eyes.

 

Stiles sighed through his normal teeth and scratched at his face with his own fingernails. "I'm not sure my anchor will be enough."

 

"All right. We can get to Denver by lunch, then we can go into the forests. There's enough national parks across Colorado, Utah, and Arizona that we can get to California without being seen. That should give you more than enough time to find another anchor, and I'll make sure you'll stay under control."

 

Stiles squeezed Derek's hand in thanks again, then headed over to the car, Derek following after him a moment later.

 

...

 

As promised, they were in Denver by lunch. They used some money to eat at a diner, Derek encouraging Stiles to get past the overwhelming smells and odd tastes in his mouth; he needed to eat and keep up his energy.

 

Stiles managed to eat most of his burger, though he gagged at the taste of the chemicals that were in the meat. He ended up eating the salad and bun instead, though he set the lettuce aside because that was gross even before he'd become a werewolf with super-sensitive senses. He ate his curly fries stubbornly, trying to ignore the salt that felt like it was burning his tongue and throat. Stiles could taste the lingering oil from the deep frier that had fried vegetables, chicken, fish, meat, and several bugs that had crawled into the frier.

 

_Nope._

 

He choked and pushed his plate away, and that was the end of the curly fries. Stiles clutched Derek's hand tightly as he fought the urge to be sick. Derek offered him a glass of water without ice, and Stiles drank it down eagerly.

 

Someone walked into the diner, stinking of cigarette smoke, and it was the same brand that D had smoked. Stiles was out of the diner before he even thought about moving, and he was retching by the side of the building a moment later. Derek was beside him in a second, drawing his pain away and rubbing his back gently.

 

"Fuck," Stiles groaned weakly.

 

"It's all right. I thought... I thought familiar food might help, but it's obviously too soon. We'll find something else, okay? You really do need to eat before tonight, or you'll probably try to go after some poor unfortunate campers," Derek murmured, looking out to the street and sniffing. "There's a green grocers a few blocks down. Do you feel up to walking?"

 

"Yeah, I'll be okay for that," Stiles said, taking Derek's offered hand to stand up. "So, what kind of campers taste best?"

 

"Really, Stiles?"

 

"Well, I want to make sure I only get the best campers for my wolfy belly."

 

Derek rolled his eyes and didn't answer.

 

Once they'd bought and eaten enough fruit and vegetables to fill two werewolf stomachs, Derek gave Stiles money to call the Sheriff. Stiles kept the call short, letting his father know that they were going to ditch the car they'd stolen from their captors and run through the national parks and forests instead.

 

Derek gave the rest of their money to a homeless person, and then he and Stiles drove out of the city. They abandoned the car on the side of the highway, and Stiles challenged Derek to a race, both of them running towards the Golden Gate Canyon State Park.

 

Stiles never thought he'd actually be a werewolf, though since Scott had become a True Alpha, he'd figured that Scott would be his Alpha, if it ever ended up that way. As he raced Derek towards the trees, his fingers turned to claws, his fangs extended, and his eyes changed to blue instead of gold. Stiles mused on what colour his eyes would have been before these past two weeks; _maybe he never would have had golden eyes anyway?_ It wasn't anything he could change or fix now, but Stiles wondered if Scott would understand why his eyes were blue, if he would forgive him for murdering people.

 

He and Scott hadn't always agreed on everything - hunters, Derek, expanding the pack, the way to deal with intruders - and sometimes, Stiles wanted nothing more than to smack his brother upside his head for his infuriating and unrealistic optimism in the face of actual real-life danger. Not everyone could be saved, and sometimes, not everyone _should_ be saved.

 

"Come on, Stilinski. You can run faster than that!" Derek called, passing by him easily.

 

Stiles stopped thinking, put thoughts of Scott out of his mind, and ran after his Alpha. He suspected that Derek let him win, but that didn't mean he wouldn't crow about it for an hour or so.

 

When they were deeper in the forest, far away from any hiking trails or camping areas, Derek headed up to an outlook. It was naturally formed, with trees protecting them all around, and even if there was a trail in the forest below, no one would be able to see them up here.

 

"We're not stopping for a romantic picnic, are we?" Stiles asked.

 

"No. You're going to practise your shift until I'm satisfied you can hold it long enough to run for the next two days, or keep it under control if we have to fight. This will be different than how you taught Scott, or even how I taught Boyd, Erica, and Isaac, but we don't have time as a luxury, especially if those hunters really were working with others."

 

Stiles felt a sharp pain of guilt at Boyd, Erica, and Isaac's names. He wondered if it was his own pain or Derek's, but decided not to ask. Derek was right: they didn't have time.

 

"All right. So what are we working on first? Claws, speed, attacks?"

 

"All of them," Derek replied, running at Stiles without warning.

 

" _Shit!_ " Stiles cried out, raising an arm to block Derek's incoming claws.

 

...

 

They fought for several hours, only stopping when the sun began to set on the horizon. Stiles estimated that he'd won about a third of their fights. While he wasn't as strong as Derek as a beta, he still knew how to utilise his own smaller stature and speed to get the upper hand. He'd done a lot of self-defence classes when he was younger as a way to focus (and use up his excess energy, much to the relief of his parents), and Stiles remembered those lessons as he clawed and kicked and fought his way against Derek, trying desperately to keep hold of his anchor at the same time.

 

"How's your anchor doing?"

 

"Could be stronger. It's enough for this, but I'm not sure it'll be enough for that," Stiles said, indicating out to the full moon starting to rise.

 

"You can have more than one anchor, you know. You can use as many as you need to keep yourself grounded to your humanity."

 

Stiles blinked in surprise; he'd thought that anchors were a monogamous 'this one and only this' kind of thing. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

 

"I wanted to see how you'd cope with your first one. It's holding up well. How's your arm doing?"

 

Stiles looked at the flaps of skin that were still healing, then shrugged. "I'll live."

 

"Good. Now, concentrate and try to get another anchor."

 

Stiles nodded and focused. Almost immediately, he felt another anchor take up in his chest, one for his father, and another one for Scott. Stiles let out a breath, feeling his emotions settle slowly and the anxious buzzing under his skin dull down to background noise. It was stronger, he felt stronger, but Stiles knew that it still wasn't enough.

 

"How's that?" Derek asked, his voice gentle and kind.

 

"A bit better. Not enough though. I... I really thought they would be," Stiles admitted, scratching his head.

 

"Will they be enough to get you home safely?"

 

Stiles tested his claws, then looked up at the moon. "Yeah, it'll be enough for that."

 

"Good. Let's run," Derek said, standing and offering a hand to Stiles.

 

He took it and stood, then waited a heartbeat before he started to run through the forest, Derek running after him.

 

Stiles was vaguely surprised at how many things he could smell, the dirt beneath him, the scent of each individual tree, the humid summer air, the rabbit just ahead with its terrified heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears. He stopped abruptly, Derek leaping over him so he wouldn't barrel into Stiles.

 

"A rabbit, really?" Derek asked, sniffing the air.

 

"Better than a camper," Stiles said with a laugh, nimbly moving around his Alpha to chase after the rabbit.

 

...

 

Stiles woke up with blood in his teeth, scraps of fur littering his clothes, his Alpha draped over his stomach, and the sun shining directly into his face. He winced and lifted a hand to block the sun.

 

"I can't believe you let me eat a _raw_ rabbit," Stiles muttered, shoving at Derek.

 

"I'll bring a portable cooker the next time we're kidnapped and tortured," he snarked, moving his body until he was lying on top of Stiles properly.

 

"Asshole," Stiles said, though the words lacked heat.

 

"Uh huh. Want to keep running, or do you need another rabbit?" Derek asked.

 

There was rabbit in his teeth too, and Stiles remembered proudly offering the dead rabbit to his Alpha first. "You ate my rabbit."

 

"First you tell me off for letting you eat it, now you're upset that I ate it?" Derek asked in disbelief.

 

"No, no, not like that. I offered you my rabbit and you ate it."

 

Derek's cheeks went pink. "Of course. I... I'm your Alpha, it was your first kill."

 

Stiles heard his heart skip at the lie, even though he knew it was a lie just from Derek's expression. "Bullshit. You _know_ why I offered it, and you accepted it."

 

"Stiles," he sighed.

 

"No, nuh-uh! We are not going through this again! You said you loved me, asshole! It's only been two weeks; you can't take it back because of... because we were tortured."

 

"I know what I said, Stiles, and I'm not taking it back. I accepted the damn rabbit, didn't I?"

 

Stiles managed to sit up properly. "Wait, you mean that?"

 

"I don't even _like_ rabbit, Stiles."

 

"Then why the hell haven't you kissed me?"

 

"Because, like you said: we were tortured. I didn't think you'd be interested in anything so soon. Besides, we agreed to go slow, remember?"

 

"I know what we said," Stiles replied mockingly. "Just kiss me already."

 

Derek cupped Stiles' face and kissed him gently. "Better now?"

 

"Yeah. Better," he said, kissing Derek's lips briefly. "C'mon, let's keep running."

 

Derek stood and offered Stiles his hand. Stiles took it, and when he was standing, Derek pressed a kiss to the back of his knuckles. Stiles grinned and squeezed his hand.

 

"So what do you like if you don't like rabbits?"

 

Derek snorted and started running.

 

"That was a serious question, Der!" Stiles called, shifting and running after him.

 

"Campers."

 

"Very funny, asshole."

 

...

 

Apparently the night after a full moon was just as bad for a new werewolf as the full moon itself. Stiles' anchors weren't enough, and they were close enough to camping grounds that he could smell people. He snarled at the humans' intrusion in the forest, his fangs out in full force. Up ahead, his Alpha howled, Stiles' howl echoing it a moment later. He ran to his Alpha, and they watched as the humans retreated to their tents, fear leaving a pungent trail.

 

Derek waited until the last camper fell asleep before making his way down the trail, Stiles beside him. They stepped into the camping area, walking around the fire that was still flickering heat and flames, and made their way to the store of food the campers had left out in their hurry. Cooked food didn't taste any better shifted than it had when he'd been human, and Stiles thanked whichever weirdo brought pickles on a camping trip. He ate those, scrunching his nose at the sausages Derek devoured, then replaced the empty jar.

 

They left enough for the campers to eat before returning to their cars in the morning. Stiles snapped up another string of sausages to present to Derek, running into the forest after his Alpha. Derek didn't seem upset at Stiles' gift, even though he'd left them for the campers. He ate them slower than the ones he'd eaten earlier, taking his time to savour the gift. When he was done, he kissed Stiles, then continued running.

 

Stiles felt another anchor take hold in his chest, and knew that even without the others, his love would be enough to keep him human. He grinned and ran after Derek eagerly.

 

...

 

They arrived in Beacon Hills late the next day, being overly cautious when moving between forests and state lines. They'd taken the long way around several places to avoid people, as hunters often masqueraded as campers and hikers during the summer months to kill unsuspecting creatures who used the forests to move around. Another pack was in the Nevada forest, howling to let the intruders know of the borders in place. Derek howled in return, and they ran faster through that forest than any other.

 

Stiles' clothes were torn to pieces, he'd lost a shoe, his hair was a mess with actual twigs and leaves in it, and his wounds from Derek's practising only just healing. He'd never felt more alive, and Stiles wanted to run straight to his house to hug his father, gratitude flowing through him again. Something made him cautious though. Maybe it lingered from their day through the state, or something in the wind, but Stiles felt as though something was wrong. He looked to Derek, who didn't look comfortable either.

 

"Do you know what's wrong?" Stiles asked quietly as they headed to his house.

 

"It's too quiet. This time of day usually has people out walking dogs, or going out for food, but there's no one. It was quiet like this when Kate..." Derek trailed off, shaking his head. "I'm sure everything's fine."

 

Stiles didn't point out the lie, but they did run that bit faster through the town.

 

Hearing sirens long before they arrived at the Stilinski residence, Derek had to hold Stiles back from running into what could be a trap. A crowd had gathered in front of the house, and Stiles almost broke free of Derek's hold.

 

"Hunters use police and ambulance sirens to draw people out. Just trust me and wait," Derek said, his arm tight around Stiles' torso.

 

"My dad's in there!"

 

"Stop and smell _properly_ , Stiles. He's not the only one. Do you recognise the other scents?" Derek asked, voice firm and harsh.

 

Stiles gasped a few times, trying to draw breath in, trying to calm down long enough to smell what Derek could. A moment later, he sniffed in deeply, past the smell of the forest clinging to him, past the scent of dried blood, past the confusion and curiosity of the people on the street, and into his house. He could smell the Sheriff, his familiar scent making Stiles sob briefly, then he smelled the others around the Sheriff. Scott was there, as was Melissa, and at least four other people he didn't recognise. They weren't pack, they weren't even Beacon Hills locals, and as Stiles breathed in deeper, he realised they were all armed: guns with wolfsbane-bullets.

 

"Good. Stiles, you're doing great. Now, can you hear what they're saying?" Derek asked, his voice soft in his ear as Stiles' trembled in his grip.

 

He focused his ears past the sirens and people whispering to each other, listening to the conversation inside.

 

" - due home soon, isn't he, Sheriff? It won't be long now, then you'll all be put out of your misery."

 

"Leave him alone!" Scott snapped.

 

"Keep your dog on a leash, or he'll be the first _dead_ True Alpha in a hundred years. G, J, go turn off the sirens and get the people out of the street."

 

"Yessir, F, sir."

 

"My son's not stupid. He'd go to the loft before coming here."

 

Stiles blinked at that; both he and his father knew he'd go straight home. But if these new captors didn't realise he was a werewolf and could hear his father's words, it made sense. Scott's outburst must've alerted the Sheriff that he and Derek were outside, and the Sheriff was telling them where to go. Whether it was for help or something else entirely, he didn't know.

 

" _What_ loft?" F asked.

 

Stiles could see J and G coming out onto the porch, the sirens turned off a moment later.

 

"All right, people! That's enough, time for you to go home now!"

 

"Wait until the crowd starts to disperse before walking away. Don't run, it'll draw their attention," Derek murmured.

 

Stiles nodded. "You heard about the loft?"

 

"Yeah. They must've set something up there in case there were others. Glad you told them about that."

 

"Yeah, so am I," Stiles murmured. He stifled a laugh when he saw what was happening down the street. "Is old Mrs. Langdon really threatening the hunters with her cane?"

 

"I think she's telling them where to stick it," Derek replied, sounding both amused and grudgingly impressed.

 

G and J threatened the crowd with obstructing justice, among other things, and the crowd finally began to disperse. Stiles was relieved that one of his neighbours guided Mrs. Langdon away; she probably would follow through with her threat, and he doubted that wolfsbane bullets would be harmless to humans as well.

 

Now that the crowd was moving, Stiles and Derek left the street to head to the loft. They were both quiet as they made their way to the building, listening intently for anyone that might be inside. It was void of life, and they made their way upstairs to the loft in the elevator, Stiles practically vibrating with nerves in case they were wrong.

 

Derek slid the metal door open. He wasn't immediately shot or stabbed or tasered, and Stiles breathed in relief. He grabbed Derek's hand, squeezing tightly, and thought of the last time they'd been in the loft together.

 

It had been after the Independence Day BBQ; Stiles had been watching the fireworks from Derek's balcony, both of them standing side by side. Stiles had admitted that he was in love with Derek, and probably had been for years. Derek had been silent, as if expecting Stiles to say it was a joke, that it hadn't been real, that it was a cruel prank that someone was recording on video. He hadn't said any of those things, just grabbed Derek's hand and squeezed tightly. Derek had looked at their hands, hesitating for a second before he admitted that he loved Stiles as well. Stiles had grinned so hard and wide his cheeks hurt, but he'd promised Derek that they'd take things slow, and kissed him once before turning back to watch the fireworks. Derek had said something about ice cream and fireworks, and Stiles had immediately jumped on the idea. They'd left the loft hand-in-hand, both smiling broadly.

 

Derek had pulled over to help a couple who had broken down on the side of the road, Stiles getting out to help (but mostly to ogle Derek's ass while he was bent over the car), and then the woman - A - had stabbed Derek with her favoured syringe of wolfsbane while B tasered Stiles, his head hitting the asphalt hard. He'd vaguely heard Derek's roar as he fell unconscious, and since B's arm had been bandaged since they woke up, he figured that Derek had hurt the fucker. Stiles had made a point in bringing it up every time B was in the room, which was probably why B had stabbed him.

 

"That box wasn't here before, was it?" Stiles asked, nodding to the box sitting on the dining table by the window.

 

Derek shook his head and they walked over to it. Stiles peered in with a fair amount of trepidation; the captors could've told the Sheriff to say something, after all.

 

"Are those paintball guns?" he muttered indignantly, pulling one out and inspecting it. "These bastards will _literally_ torture and kill everyone, and we're expected to go against them with _paintball_ guns? Is this a joke?"

 

There was a note under the guns that Derek pulled out and read. "We've got the rest of the pack out of BH to keep them safe. We can capture the hunters and find out who they're working with."

 

Stiles turned away, the paintball gun clutched in his hands so tight that the barrel bent. He looked down at the... _toy_ that he was expected to use against ruthless killers.

 

"I can't do this," he said, bending the barrel over entirely.

 

"Stiles?"

 

"Not with this! It's a **toy** , Derek! These are professionals; they know the difference between a real gun and a paintball gun! They're not going to surrender, and if we go in with nothing but this, we're fucked, and we might as well have died back there!"

 

Derek put a hand on Stiles' shoulder, drawing him back slowly and hugging him firmly. "Then we won't. We'll go in the way they think of us: as monsters," he said, eyes glowing red.

 

Stiles had been gearing up for a fight, as he would have had he been talking to Scott, and instead felt a rush of relief flow through him. He was suddenly so grateful that Derek was his Alpha; Derek _understood_ that toys weren't weapons that would win against these people, and he knew that some people couldn't be saved, didn't deserve to be. His anchors lodged in his chest firmly, gratitude for being alive, love for the one standing in front of him, his family and pack, and Stiles grinned back at his Alpha with blue eyes.

 

...

 

A scream filled the air, high-pitched, painful, and terrified. Scott looked to the Sheriff, eyebrow creased in confusion. _Surely the guns weren't that scary to these hunters?_

 

The Sheriff shrugged in return, his senses more limited than Scott's. The scream cut off abruptly with a gurgle, and the Sheriff knew _that_ sound better than he'd like. Scott tried to question him again, but the Sheriff simply shook his head. _They'd find out what was happening sooner or later; there was no point in making assumptions._

 

There was another scream, this one cut off sooner, and then G and F were in the room with them, their guns trained on the door and window. Silence followed, and Scott desperately tried to listen over the sound of the terrified heartbeats.

 

"F?" G snapped.

 

"Quiet, G," F hissed.

 

Another gurgling sound seemed to echo in the silence, G paling. "J!"

 

"Goddammit, G; shut up!" F snarled, turning on G.

 

Melissa scooted further away from G and F, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. Scott grabbed his mother's arm and tugged her closer to the lounge, shielding her. He reached across for the Sheriff as well, the three of them huddling together as F and G faced off.

 

"We have to deal with these abominations, _then_ you can mourn J. Understood, G?"

 

G didn't look pleased, but lowered her weapon. "Yes sir."

 

With their attention redirected, Scott wondered why no one had attacked yet. The door wasn't guarded with G's weapon lowered, and he looked over to it curiously. There was another noise, this one closer to the lounge room, and G's weapon snapped up and fired three shots in under a second. Scott's eyes widened at how fast she'd been, looking over to the door to see if Stiles or Derek had been harmed. There were no gurgling sounds, no dying heartbeats, no scent of blood. _Well, not Stiles or Derek's blood, at least_ , Scott amended.

 

He listened again, frowning when he heard someone running. _Were they running away? Or was it someone outside, running past?_ Scott almost turned to look out the window, but he could feel F watching him, so he kept his eye on the door instead.

 

...

 

Stiles ran on the spot, taking a moment to prepare himself. He was about to run into the room, armed with nothing but teeth and claws. _Well, it was better than sarcasm and a baseball bat_ , he mused, running straight at the foyer wall.

 

He burst into the lounge room, leaving a Stiles-shaped hole in the wall behind him, and while F and G turned to aim at him, Stiles ducked low behind the lounge and Derek ran in through the lounge room door. G was down before she could get out a shot, and while F's attention was on Derek, Stiles leapt up and took F down with a swipe of claws, blood spurting out of F's jugular. F and G collapsed, dead in less than five seconds, and Stiles breathed through the blood splatter on his face.

 

"St-Stiles?" the Sheriff asked, jaw hanging open as he looked from his son to the dead captors in his lounge room.

 

Stiles looked at his father with blue eyes, his claws slipping away to leave bloody fingers behind. "Hey, Dad. Long time, no see," he said, the joke as weak as his voice.

 

The Sheriff stepped over F's body to pull Stiles into a firm hug, not caring about anything other than his son being alive. Stiles sobbed, clutching at his father tightly, not even noticing as Derek helped Melissa stand and led her to the door.

 

"We kept H alive; she knows who L and T are, but she needs medical care," he explained.

 

"What... what about the guns?" Scott asked.

 

"You mean the _toys_ you gave us?" Stiles snapped, finally pulling away from his father.

 

"They were - "

 

"They were _toys_ against professionals who would've known they were fake the minute we arrived with them!"

 

"You didn't have to kill them," Scott protested.

 

Stiles' expression became shuttered, and the Sheriff wondered about everything that had happened in the last two weeks. He had healed - physically, at least - but two weeks of torture would have lasting damage on his psyche. From what he'd briefly mentioned on the phone, Stiles had come close to dying. The Sheriff wasn't surprised at their response to these hunters.

 

"Yes, we did, Scott. We kept H alive, but that's only so we can find the rest of them," Stiles said firmly, fiercely, and not asking for forgiveness.

 

Scott looked scandalised, and stomped out of the room without another word.

 

The Sheriff considered everything that had happened. Melissa had been pushed down and her leg and hands were bruised; Scott's injuries had healed long ago; the Sheriff himself had actually suffered the worst since Stiles was his son. The bruise on his face was courtesy of F, his bruised ribs were from G and J, and I had dislocated his shoulder before Melissa had fixed it. The Sheriff could put their deaths down to self-defence.

 

"I'm glad to see you, son," the Sheriff murmured, hugging Stiles again.

 

Stiles was stiff in his arms for a moment, but then he hugged him back firmly.

 

"You and Derek, you're not going to stay, are you?" he asked, not really a question since he already knew the answer.

 

He knew it in Stiles' posture, the way he was looking at the door, the hole he'd made in the room, already analysing the room for exit points. It was a common thing he saw in Parrish sometimes, remembered in his buddies when they came back from war, the paranoia and fear, the need to get out before others, to arrive when everyone else had already arrived so they could survey the room. It was something he knew that would only be aggravated if Stiles stayed in Beacon Hills, an emotional equivalent of suffocating and suffering even more than he already had. Stiles needed support, but first, he needed to get closure. They both knew that if he stayed in Beacon Hills and brought the hunters to town, it would only endanger those he cared about. Stiles wouldn't do that to them, and besides, he'd never been afraid of going after what he wanted. Case in point, walking through his lounge room door was one Derek Hale.

 

"No, we're not. We... can't, Dad. Not with the rest of them out there. They're... the things they're doing; I can't, I won't let that happen to anyone else," Stiles said, his voice thick.

 

The Sheriff wondered if he'd ever get the whole story from his son; wondered if he'd ever be to hear the whole story without wanting to hunt these bastards down himself. Instead, he nodded firmly, and turned to face Derek. The Alpha looked apprehensive, and if this had been any other moment, it would have made the Sheriff laugh at intimidating the big bad Alpha.

 

"You look after my son, Derek Hale. Make sure he sleeps, make sure he calls me often, and I want updates from _both_ of you. But above all, keep each other safe, and _please_ let me know if you need help. I might not be pack in the way you and he are, but that doesn't mean I don't care," the Sheriff said, hugging Derek just as tight as he'd hugged Stiles a moment ago.

 

"Yes, sir. I'll look after him," Derek promised as they pulled away.

 

"Boys? H is awake," Melissa said from the doorway, as much blood on her hands as there was on Derek and Stiles'.

 

Stiles took Derek's hand and they followed after Melissa. The Sheriff called Parrish to bring the rest of Scott's pack back home, then placed another call to the station, asking only for the officers he knew who would back him up and wouldn't ask questions. He had a long night ahead of him.

 

...

 

In the early hours of the morning, Stiles and Derek had the locations of L and T, had discovered more of the hunters' organisation, and let Melissa call someone else to take H to the hospital. Though they were both exhausted from their fight, they still took the time to corroborate the Sheriff's account of what had happened to the hunters, both of them having listened to the Sheriff's story he provided to his subordinates. Stiles tried not to get too excited when he realised he could tell the difference between chemo signals, even though the officer in question didn't truly believe their story.

 

The officer was willing to overlook the obvious lies for the Sheriff ( _a bear wandered in and tore open the throats of_ ** _only_** _the people who were holding them captive?!_ ), since he'd given him a chance and had given him a job when others refused.

 

When the officers had all left, the Sheriff told Stiles and Derek to have showers to get rid of the blood, and sleep. The hunters would still be there when they woke up, unfortunately, and with that, the Sheriff went to bed himself.

 

Stiles pulled Derek into the shower with him, kissing him, their hands running along the other's body as they cleaned the blood off, red swirling down the drain. When they were both clean, Derek turned the taps off, helped Stiles out of the shower, and dried him off. Stiles returned the favour, and they went to his bedroom, changing into dry clothes and climbing into bed, werewolves just as affected by exhaustion as humans. Stiles pulled Derek's arm around his torso, hugging his hand to his chest. Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles' shoulder and set his head on the pillow, breathing in the scent of his pack.

 

...

 

A nightmare had Stiles' screaming, and he woke not only Derek and the Sheriff, but also several neighbours. By the time the Sheriff had sent a concerned Mrs. Langdon away (still talking about putting her cane where the sun wouldn't shine), Stiles had had his pain leached by Derek and was feeling somewhat normal again.

 

"Do you want to talk about it, son?" the Sheriff asked, sounding weary, but his heartbeat stayed firm and his emotions didn't waver from concern, worry, and love.

 

Stiles shook his head. "Sorry for waking you, Dad."

 

"Nothing to be sorry about," he replied. "I'm always here for you, you know that, don't you, son?"

 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I know."

 

The doorbell rang before the Sheriff could respond. "We're fine, Mrs. Langdon!"

 

"It's Scott," Derek said.

 

"Oh. Is it all right to let him in?" the Sheriff asked Stiles.

 

"Yeah. But if I put a Scott-shaped hole in the wall, I'm apologising ahead of time."

 

"It's all right, needed to get that wallpaper replaced anyway," the Sheriff said with a grin, heading downstairs.

 

Stiles climbed out of bed to get changed. Derek stood and pulled him close, kissing Stiles firmly, his hands warm on his shoulders.

 

"You'll be fine, Stiles. _I'll_ throw him through the wall if he says anything, okay?" Derek promised.

 

Stiles snorted a laugh. "Yeah, okay. C'mon, put pants on and come downstairs with me."

 

Scott barely waited for them to get down the stairs before he hugged Stiles firmly. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I... You did what you needed to, and I'm glad you're all right."

 

"Thanks, so'm I," Stiles admitted with a grin. "We're still leaving and going after these guys, you know that, right?"

 

Scott nodded, though he didn't look entirely pleased. "Yeah, I know. I didn't think you'd change your mind, but I kind of hoped... You'll give them a chance though? In case they're not all bad?"

 

"H almost killed Melissa while she was trying to _help_ her, Scott," Derek said pointedly.

 

"What?"

 

"Why do you think we made her call the hospital to get someone else out here to transport H? Any of us could've driven her, but H threatened to kill us all. The paramedics had to sedate H just to get her into the ambulance," Stiles added.

 

Scott frowned. "I didn't know."

 

"Now you do. We'll call you when we call Dad, okay? But we're not stopping until this is finished," Stiles said, voice and heartbeat firm.

 

After a long moment, Scott nodded. "All right. Good luck? I guess," he added, a little awkwardly.

 

"Thanks, Scott. Now, go home and look after your mother, and take good care of your pack," Stiles said, hugging his friend.

 

"You're pack too, Stiles," Scott said, though it was obvious he was asking more than stating a fact.

 

Stiles shook his head, taking Derek's hand. "I'll always be your brother, Scott, but I'm not in your pack. After everything I've been through; I can't be."

 

Scott swallowed forcibly, tears in his eyes. "Well, if that ever changes..."

 

"You'll be the first to know," Stiles promised. "Now, get out of here. Your mother's had a hell of a day."

 

Scott hugged Stiles, then shook Derek's hand, and with only a single glance back at them, left to go home.

 

Stiles sighed and turned into Derek's embrace, hugging him, and subtly replacing Scott's scent. "Let's go back to bed. I'm tired."

 

Derek took his hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles, and led Stiles upstairs again.

 

...

 

After a full night's sleep without nightmares, Stiles woke up and started packing his bag. The Sheriff stopped in the doorway and knocked on the frame gently. His face and ribs hurt more than they had the day before, but the painkillers were helping, so he was already dressed in his Sheriff's uniform.

 

"Don't forget to send me your new phone number," he said.

 

"I will when I get a new phone," Stiles promised.

 

The Sheriff gave a small laugh, drawing his attention, and then threw a box at him. "It's not the newest model on the market, but I've been told it's durable, so hopefully it won't break if it's dropped or thrown or whatever else might happen to it."

 

Stiles grinned, setting the box on his bed and hugging his father. "Thanks, Dad."

 

"You're welcome; just make sure to call me on the damn thing, understood?"

 

"Understood."

 

"Good. Now, I hate long goodbyes, and I'm going to cry if I stay any longer, so I'm going to work to pretend like it's just another day of awful coffee and doughnuts."

 

"Salad."

 

"Half a doughnut, final offer."

 

"Half a doughnut _if_ you eat the salad."

 

"Deal. I'm heading off before you can actually make me a salad," the Sheriff said, grinning at his own smarts.

 

"Already put in your bag, Sheriff," Derek said from the bed, trying not to look too smug.

 

The Sheriff looked from Stiles to Derek, mouth gaping, then he closed it with a snap. "I'm going to give _the most_ embarrassing speech at your wedding, I swear. I'm going to start writing it today."

 

Stiles blushed and resisted the urge to shove his father out the door; he'd normally do exactly that, but he knew he might shove him over the stair railing accidentally. "Oh my God, just go already!"

 

"Love you, Stiles."

 

"Love you too, Dad."

 

Stiles hugged and scented his father for a moment before the Sheriff pulled away. He coughed, eyes wet with unshed tears, then ruffled Stiles' hair to annoy him. "Be safe, and look after each other."

 

"We will, Sheriff," Derek promised.

 

"Good. Then, uh, good hunting."

 

"Thanks, Dad."

 

Stiles watched from his bedroom window as the Sheriff drove away, listening for a few minutes longer until he could no longer hear his tyres on the road or his humming along with the song on the radio.

 

"Still want to go?" Derek asked.

 

"Yes," Stiles answered immediately, not hesitating in the slightest.

 

He grabbed more things to pack away, and Derek opened the phone with a careful claw. Stiles set up the phone while Derek made them breakfast, and as he ate, Stiles deliberated on his first message to send to the Sheriff, Scott, Melissa, and Scott's pack. Finally he decided, typing it in and pressing send.

 

 _Leaving in 10; hunters beware_.

 

"That's corny," Derek muttered, shaking his head.

 

Stiles snorted. "You still love me."

 

"Yeah, I do," Derek replied, kissing him.

 

They left fifteen minutes later, Stiles in the passenger seat of the Camaro, practising on shifting his claws in time with the song on the radio.

 

Derek reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing firmly. "We'll get them, Stiles."

 

"Oh, I know we will," Stiles said, looking at the map sitting on his lap that led to L and T.

 

_Hunters beware: you're next, fuckers._

 

...

 

The end.

 

Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on [Tumblr](http://nivalvixen.tumblr.com/post/149694568717/hunters-beware)


End file.
